In Every Castle
by sweet little nightmare
Summary: In every castle there is a family, and every family has its troubles... The life and times of the Tiggular family, as seen by a lowly maid... Rated T for possible future scenes
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I ain't Gregory Maguire, and all that...**

**A/N: There'll be a name in this story that you possibly recognise, and I just want to state that said character is **_**not**_** based on her namesake; she has this name because a friend of mine requested it. So, my apologies :D**

**Summary: Every royal family has a castle, and every castle has its servants... The reflections of a servant girl on the young prince, Fiyero...**

Chapter One

Restless

"Stand up straighter," Miss Eldra whispers furiously in my ear, "you're lucky to have been granted work here, don't you know?"

"Of course," I whisper back, nodding. Big mistake, it appears, since this only serves to deepen Miss Eldra's frown.

"Don't nod!" she snaps, "we aren't supposed to be conversing. Watch the doors, now, they'll be here any moment."

In silence, I oblige, turning to face the pair of magnificent double doors; dark, shining wood inlaid with the traditional Vinkun diamonds. I have never been in a place like this. Everything shines so! I keep wanting to blink, my eyes dazzled by the solemn, heavy grandeur of Kiamo Ko.

To my right, Miss Eldra stands with her mottled pink hands clasped in front of her and her face carefully impassive. Her curly red hair has been forced into a bun, and her brown dress strains over her ample bosom. Miss Eldra is my superior, an actual _lady in waiting_ to the queen where I am only a common maid.

"_Miss Fantine!"_ I hear her hiss in my ear, "your hair is all over the place! Make yourself presentable!"

Hurriedly, I force a few strands of straggling, wispy ashy-blonde hair behind my ears, resisting the urge to mutter _Look at yourself, Miss Frizz, _under my breath. Fortunately, I'm spared the torture of further sniping by the opening of the doors, which are attended by two young boys in sharp cobalt blue outfits (can't these people even open doors for themselves?)

Then, they enter.

All the breath rushes out of me in a soft, sighing gasp I cannot seem to keep inside myself. They are breathtaking. They are visions. Well, the queen and the prince, anyway. Not so much the king, who is rangy and balding and looks more like a disgruntled eagle than a royal.

The queen, though, is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her hair, which I had expected to be in some sort of elaborate up-do, is a soft, black raven-wing falling over one shoulder. Her eyes are large and luminous, the blue of an August midday sky, startling against the golden tan of her skin. But she looks tired, I can't help noticing, and ill at ease, shooting sidelong glances at her husband as she drags the heavy train of her gown across the floor.

My eyes pass over her and land on her son, the Crown Prince Fiyero. Decorum dictates that he must walk a few steps behind his parents, and he looks as though going this slowly is a great effort; as though he wants to rush off ahead and get this over and done with. His eyes are blue like his mother's, but they're not tired and wan, they're... restless. Alight with energy. Is he like me? Trapped – wanting adventure but unable to abandon his duties? He takes his place at High Table with his parents, slumping gracelessly into his seat so that his mother shoots him a death-glare to rival Miss Eldra's.

"Come along," Miss Eldra's voice slides sideways out of the corner of her mouth, inaudible to anyone but me, "it's time."

Quickly and quietly, accompanied by six other brown-clad servants, we ascend the steps to High Table and take our places behind each person seated there, ready to attend them.

I find myself standing behind the prince, feeling the jealous stares of the other lowly maids. Prince Fiyero does not turn around to look at me, but then, I suppose that is to be expected.

Dinner begins. The king attacks his food with vigour, barely restraining himself to eat at a respectable pace, while his wife picks daintily at her food, displaying the appetite of a flea. The prince hardly stops talking, pausing occasionally to eat the odd mouthful, but generally too caught up in what he's saying to bother with any of that. He talks of tournaments and parties and shows, trying to stir up some enthusiasm for these activities in his parents. Neither of them seem to be particularly dazzled; they spend the entire time exchanging dark looks and gazing gloomily ahead. Prince Fiyero is the only person at the entire table who is talking animatedly, even if his subject matter _is _shallow and frivolous. The king, I notice, empties glass after glass of rich red wine, motioning again and again for the serving maid behind him to refill his glass. _So dinner at Kiamo Ko is rather a strained affair, _I think to myself.

I expect the whole sorry thing to be over in an hour, but it seems that the royal family will take as long as they please at table, so we wait. The king becomes at first far more jocund, laughing along with his son and encouraging his wife to join them in their revelry. Then an argument breaks out between the two men, young and old, and the older, being rather drunk by this point, loses his temper perhaps more than a little, overturning his half-full goblet with a raucous cry of rage and stalking out of the grand hall.

"Oh, Fiyero," says the queen, "why do you always have to make him angry?"

"_You _make him angry," the prince mutters, his expression darkening for the first time. A rosy tint colours his mother's face, and I can't help wondering what it is that she has done to make her husband into such a knotted mess of fury. It is quite discomfiting, sitting in on this family spat, and I wish I could escape.

"Clear these things!" the queen instructs us briskly, without so much as a fleeting glance over her shoulder, "we have finished here!"

As quietly and unobtrusively as we can, we clear everything from the High Table. I keep my eyes down as Miss Eldra has instructed me, and by the time we have finished our work, the queen and her son have departed.

**A/N: So... thoughts? Opinions? Should I continue? X's and O's to Lauryn; Fantine is for you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Je nais ownee pas, blah blah blah…**

**A/N: Thanks so much to WickedIsMyCrack and SopranoElphie for reviewing the last chappie! This one's for you…**

Chapter Two

Home

The castle kitchen is a long, narrow room, not nearly large enough for all sixteen kitchen staff to peacefully co-exist without doing serious injury to one another. I have been here for a mere two days, and already I have almost been pushed into the open stove. Needless to say, I plan to avoid this place at all costs, but that isn't so easy when you're answerable to just about every other person in Kiamo Ko, and you have to do exactly what they say, exactly when they say it, or else. Which is why, yet again, I'm standing amid a mist of steam and a rabble of servants, putting away the clean dishes as they are handed to me by a little dark-haired Munchkin maid, who is drying them. At least this end of the kitchen, away from the actual _cooking_, is relatively safe.

"I'm Aprella," the Munchkin girl half-shouts over the din of clattering pots and bellowed orders, "you're not from here, are you?"

I shake my head. She's stating the obvious there. With my pale skin and fair hair, there's no way in Oz I could pass for Vinkun. "I'm from Gillikin," I tell her, "and if you aren't a Munchkinlander I'll eat my horrible lacy bonnet."

Aprella giggles shrilly, her brown eyes dancing. "That's right," she replies, "What brought you to the Vinkus, then?"

The ever-present knot in my chest tightens. "None of your business," I tell her curtly, before I can help myself. Immediately, I feel my face heating up. I hadn't meant to be so rude.

This girl, though, doesn't seem much perturbed by my brusqueness. "Never mind," she says quickly, offering me a tentative smile, "forget I asked…" she hesitates for a few moments, then says in a rush: "You don't mind telling me your name, though, do you?"

I find myself resisting the urge to burst out laughing. I don't want to offend her even more by sniggering at her. "Of course I don't _mind,"_ I say, "it's Fantine."

"Oh," Aprella hands me a large yellow bowl and I place it carefully on the shelf above my head, "Fantine. That's nice."

I shrug noncommittally. I'm never exactly the most forthcoming person when I first meet someone, and extreme exhaustion is doing nothing to improve my social skills. Last night, my first night in the servants' quarters of Kiamo Ko, I slept very little, and was up at first light to begin the day's work. And let me tell you, rushing up and down after Miss Eldra, bringing her things that the queen has demanded, and cleaning most of the East Wing on the second floor is no easy feat after about two hours of sleep. So forgive me if perhaps I'm a little grumpy.

Not that I'm complaining, of course. I'm very lucky to have this job. I know I am. Many girls would _die _to be in my position. I should feel – no, I _do _feel – very privileged.

Aprella keeps up a constant stream of bright chatter as we work, telling me all about the other servants. Norlo, the cook, is wonderful on a good day and absolutely evil on a bad day, almost as though there are _two_ Norlos. Miss Eldra is an 'old nag' but apparently her heart's in the right place. So-and-so is in love with such-and-such, and what's-his-name is canoodling with some girl from the village. Oh yes. I get all the gossip, though I can't remember half of it now. I'm content to simply stand there and pretend to listen, letting Aprella's chirpy voice soar right over my head as I mechanically lift various bowls and plates to their rightful places on the kitchen shelves. When the task is done, thus concluding my first full day of work at Kiamo Ko, I am so relieved and so dearly in need of sleep that I could fall to the floor right there and then. I leave the kitchen in a sleep-deprived, heat-induced daze, and meander vaguely along the corridor and up a flight of stairs before I realise that I'm going in completely the wrong direction. With a sigh, I lean against the wall, feeling cool, rippled stone through the thin fabric of my dress. I'll just stay here for a few moments…

_It's so dark. There is uneven earth beneath my feet that I'm sure wasn't there a moment ago. Where am I? What's happening? Painstakingly, I inch forward, feeling my way in the blackness. What is this? A door! Oh! With a rough, round wooden handle, much like the ones at… home. Home? I am home? Yes. I am home!_

_I twist the handle and push open the door, stepping into a room that I recognise instantly as our kitchen, much smaller and more homely than the one at the castle, though just as dirty. This room, unlike the little pantry (yes, that's what it was, the pantry!) that I've just emerged from, has windows, and cold, pale moonlight is streaming through them. Illuminating everything. The scattered grains of rice on the table, the gleam of scarlet on the floor – _

_Gleam of scarlet?_

_My eyes follow the trail to the corner, where a figure is hunched, half-sitting and half-lying against the wall. His eyes are open and glassy, and I know at a glance that he is dead. My father is _dead.

_It is then that I begin to scream, backing up out of the door and shaking my head in a futile attempt to dispel the image before me. This is a dream, I keep telling myself, though I know perfectly well that it isn't. Wake up, Fantine! Wake up! Wake up!_

"Wake up!"

Someone is shaking my shoulder, gently at first and then more urgently. I daren't open my eyes for fear of what I will see. Supposing I open them and the scene hasn't changed?

"Wake up!"

Furtively, I let my eyes open just a little, staring out of narrow little slits. I am not in the kitchen of our cottage, but in the lamp-lit corridor of a castle that is not yet really my home. As soon as I realise this, my panic ebbs like a receding tide, and I notice him.

He is kneeling beside me (somehow, I have slid down the wall and ended up in a sort of sprawled, undignified sitting position), his gaze no longer restless but intent on me.

"Are you alright?"

His hair, I notice, is not really jet black like his mother's. It's actually a very dark brown, and far more unruly than even my dreaded tangle.

"Come on, you'd better be alright. I don't want to have to pick you up and carry you down to the servants' quarters. That Miss Edna or whatever her name is? She scares me. She's like the crazed grandma I never had."

"Miss Eldra," I correct him automatically, "and you're right. She's exactly like someone's mad grandmother." My hand flies upward to my mouth. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't be talking like that. I'm very lucky to have this job."

His face breaks into the most open, genuine smile I have ever seen. "You _are_ alright! I can't believe you fell asleep in the corridor. Tough day?"

"I'm a _servant,"_ I remind him, "it's not _supposed_ to be easy. And it won't happen again, anyway. I've usually got better stamina than that. It's just… I haven't been sleeping well, and…"

I stop abruptly. Why am I telling him this? Why would he even care?

"You know, I fell asleep in one of my father's conference things I was being _forced_ to attend," he tells me conversationally, "I don't even think I was that tired; it was just so _boring._ Anyway, the next thing I know, my head is on the table in front of me and my father's advisor is poking me like a mad five-year-old. Not fun."

Suddenly, I find myself feeling profoundly annoyed with him. _That_ is his idea of 'not fun'? He doesn't know the meaning of 'not fun'.

"Excuse me," I tell him coldly, standing as gracefully as I possibly can (which, incidentally, is not very), "I'd better be going." I dip him the briefest of curtsies, brush past him and hurry off down the corridor, this time making sure to go in the _right_ direction.

"I'd sleep outside if I were you," he calls after me, "it's probably more comfortable than the servants' quarters, and you get an overhead view of the stars instead of a bunch of cockroaches!"

Sweet Lurline! Prince Fiyero is the most obnoxious, insufferable idiot I have ever met.

Yet it takes every last ounce of my will-power not to turn around and reply.

**A/N: Fantine and Fiyero would much appreciate your reviews, folks, and come to think of it, so would I! :D I swear you'll get a mention in future chapters!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Wicked.**_** If I did, I would not have written the totally mini-nervous-breakdown-worthy ending of part III (So I was re-reading it last night, and maybe I just **_**might**_** have dissolved into floods of tears again – just a little!)**

**A/N: Muchos gracias to WickedIsMyCrack for reviewing again (smiles!) and also to Beautifully Tragic Girl! Y'all rock my socks! This chapter's for you…**

Chapter Three

The Queen's Interventions

I have been at the castle for only a month when Miss Eldra falls ill. At first, she pretends that nothing is the matter, but she is deceiving no one. We all notice her pallor, and the feverish brightness of her eyes, and the way her hands shake when she picks up a bucket of water or a stack of plates. Nobody bothers to ask whether she is alright – she is not particularly well-liked among us servants.

Myself, I am far too busy to pay much attention. My days are spent fetching, carrying and conveying messages (it has been discovered that although I am not much of a cleaner, since my attention wanders and I tend to miss spots, I _am _light on my feet), and I spend my evenings in the kitchen, where it is all hands on deck after the evening meal. It has become something of a routine, now, that Aprella dries things and I put them away. It seems to work well, since she clearly loves to talk, while I am one who prefers to listen.

I have not spoken to the prince since that first evening when he caught me sleeping in the corridor, though I see him plenty. Whenever I see him, he is always talking animatedly, making this joke or planning that party. He has tournaments with the sons of some of the lords, and he almost always wins. I find myself wishing that he would lose for once. Now, wouldn't _that_ put a dent in his ego?

On the day of Miss Eldra's collapse, I am on my hands and knees cleaning the marble floor of the hallway outside Queen Amaris' bedchamber. Miss Eldra and the other lady-in-waiting, Miss Ophelie, are sitting in their gilded chairs on either side of the door, sewing. Or, at least, that is what they are supposed to be doing, but while Miss Ophelie is completely immersed in her needlework (she is making a tapestry of Saint Aelphaba), Miss Eldra is fanning herself with her hand and complaining.

"Oh, it's terribly hot," she moans, "I wish I had a glass of water. Miss Fantine, would you get me a glass of water?"

I glance up from the patch of floor I am absentmindedly scrubbing. "Of course," I reply, dropping the cloth and quickly getting to my feet. With the privileges of being ladies-in-waiting, Miss Eldra and Miss Ophelie are entitled to use me as _their_ servant from time to time, and while quiet Miss Ophelie does not ask for much, I am used to Miss Eldra making demands. "I'll be right back."

Jumping over the small patch of floor that I have already cleaned, I dash off along the corridor and down the stairs to the kitchen, where Aprella is on washing-up duty.

"The evil tomato wants a glass of water," I tell her, using the nickname she coined for Miss Eldra because of her bad temper, permanently flushed complexion and bright red hair.

"Oh, is she still complaining about being ill?" Aprella fills a glass with cold water and hands it to me.

"That and the heat. She finds something new to whine about every day of the week."

"Poor you," Aprella says sympathetically, "you should ask to be transferred down here?"

"Me?" I suppress a shudder, "work in the kitchens? I don't think so. I'd be dead within the hour."

We both laugh. I excuse myself reluctantly and back carefully out of the kitchen, clutching the glass of water in both hands. My progress up the stairs and back to the queen's corridor is slower this time, because of the water, and I find myself floating off into a familiar daydream about being at one of the big universities, finally able to make something of my life. When I have enough money, I plan to get out of here and go to Berrand's or Oz Grand or somewhere like that. Of course, I'd love to be a student at Shiz, but I'd never have the money and I'm probably not clever enough to get in…

There is a small crowd at the very end of the corridor, right outside Queen Amaris' chamber. The queen herself is there, looking haughty and proud as ever. Most of the rest of the people are servants, all chattering in dark anticipation. They form a ring around something, or someone, gazing down at whatever is at the centre of their circle with wide eyes.

"Miss Eldra!" I call out, speeding up a little, "your water!"

Someone turns to look at me. "She can't drink no water now."

Whatever do they mean? I rush on, not caring now that the water is sloshing all over me. Something has happened. Something bad.

At the centre of the circle is Miss Eldra, lying curled up on her side, shivering. "Too hot," she mumbles despite this, "so very hot… water… need water…"

Pushing my way between two brown-clad servants, I crouch down beside Miss Eldra, proffering the now only half-full glass of water. "Here," I say, helping her into an awkward sitting position, "drink this."

She stares at me blearily for a few moments, then seizes my hand, the one that holds the glass, and pulls it toward her. The water is gone in a matter of seconds, and Miss Eldra is looking up at me imploringly.

"More…" she mumbles in a voice barely audible. Gently, I lower her to the floor and clamber to my feet. I'm about to hurry off to fetch more water when a clear, high voice calls out:

"Where do you think you are going, Miss?"

It is Queen Amaris. I force myself to look up at her, speared in her icy gaze. Her expression is unreadable.

"She said she wanted more water," I blurt, "I was going to get some. And," I add on impulse, "some black wildgrass. It's supposed to be good for bringing a fever down." I am thinking of the garden behind the little stone cottage, and the hours I spent there when I had nothing better to do.

The queen's eyes narrow just slightly. "Is that so?" she does not wait for a reply, "What is your name, Miss?"

"It's Fantine, your Highness."

"Fantine what? You have a family name, I take it?"

I shrug, and reply before I can help myself: "It's really not important, since I no longer have any family."

Queen Amaris does the smallest of double takes, apparently surprised at my audacity (or rudeness, depending on how you want to look at it, but I personally prefer the term 'audacity'). "Well then, _Fantine,"_ she says crisply, "you can care for Miss Eldra through her convalescence, in addition to your other duties."

My eyes widen and my mouth tightens into a thin line. This isn't fair! All I did was try and help!

"I know very little about caring for the sick," I tell her quickly, adding silently: _and why should I care for Miss Eldra, anyway? What did she ever do for me?_

"It seems to me," the queen replies, "that you know plenty. Now go, child, and bring that water and wildgrass you were so eager to procure."

**-OoOoOoOoOoO-**

I am in the herb garden, searching for black wildgrass and fuming about the injustice of Queen Amaris' decree that I be responsible for Miss Eldra, when I first encounter Lord Kinjir's daughter, Sarima. Well, it's not so much an encounter as a … well… I don't know what to call it, but I wasn't spying on her and the prince! Truly, I wasn't!

Anyway, it is Sarima's voice I hear first, shrill and fluttery and so very _irritating._ "But, Fiyero," she is whining, "you _have_ to go with me!"

"Why?" I feel a faint little tingle of recognition at the prince's familiar voice, "we'll both be there. I don't see why I have to go with you."

Oh. They are talking about some party or ball or something like that, I gather.

"People _expect_ us to go together," the girl (at this point, I do not know her name) is insisting, "after all, we are to be married."

"But, Miss Sarima –" Prince Fiyero starts feebly, but she cuts him off sharply before he can say anything more.

"It's your duty," she tells him, "to your subjects."

"Who cares about duty? I'm sixteen years old. I should be having a good time, not worrying about my duties! Ask Lord Rouq's son to go with you; I know you like him."

"Your Highness – I mean, Fiyero," Sarima persists, "it doesn't matter whether or not I like him. You and I will be married someday, and that is that."

"All the more reason for us to enjoy ourselves while we can."

"Oh!" cries Sarima in that strident, melodramatic voice of hers, "oh, there's no talking to you!" I hear the quick, harsh rap of high heels hitting concrete as she departs, rushing back toward the castle.

I'm still searching frantically for the black wildgrass. I need to go. I shouldn't be here. I should not have been listening. I need –

But now there are footsteps, and the sound of someone muttering under their breath. Somebody is about to emerge from behind the dry-stone wall that surrounds the herb garden, and I know only too well who it will be.

"You again," he says in surprise, as I rocket to my feet and dip a hasty and reluctant curtsy, "what are you doing here?"

"Miss Eldra is ill," I find myself telling him, surprised that he even remembers me, "I'm collecting black wildgrass to help bring down her fever. Your charming mother," I can't help adding, "has put me to the task of caring for her in addition to all my usual chore- I mean, tasks."

"She must think you're something special, then," he says.

"What? She's punishing me because she thinks I'm something special?" I snort. "If you had a brain, I'm sure you'd be absolutely lethal."

Oh, dear. Something tells me that is not the way I should be speaking to the prince.

"She's testing you," he explains, "she does this all the time when she wants to give someone a position of higher rank. She wants to see if they can handle it."

I roll my eyes. "I highly doubt that I've done anything to impress her," I reply dryly. "And what are _you_ doing out here, anyway? I wouldn't have thought plants would be of any interest to you."

"They aren't. Miss Sarima wanted to talk somewhere private," he tells me somewhat ruefully, "she's been trying to corner me all week. She wants me to go with her to this solstice ball, and… well, I can't be bothered with her, to be honest."

"Miss Sarima is the girl you were just talking to?" I ask, "The one you're supposed to marry?" I realise to late that I'm citing a conversation I wasn't even supposed to be listening to, and I feel my face flushing a dull pink.

"You heard all that?" he asks, looking right past me at the shrubby garden behind me.

I nod. No point in lying now, is there?

To my surprise, he doesn't pursue the subject. Instead, his bright gaze flicks back to me, and he asks, completely out of the blue:

"What's your name, by the way?"

"My… my name?" I'm so taken aback that all I can do is gape. Why would he want to know my name? I'm a servant, for Lurline's sake!

"Yes. You're the girl who fell asleep in the middle of the first floor corridor, aren't you? And now we've crossed paths again." He gives me a meaningful look quite unlike his usual casual countenance. "You know who I am, but I don't know who you are. That's hardly fair, is it?"

Goodness. Two royals in one day demanding to know who I am! What in Oz is all the fuss about?

"My name is Fantine," I tell him, rather stiffly.

"Fantine," he repeats, staring at me as though trying to fit me and my name together, "Fantine. Fallen asleep in any more corridors, lately, Fantine?"

I purse my lips in open disapproval of his teasing, and shake my head.

"Oh. Was that a one off then? Is life here getting any easier for you?"

"Oh, quite," I tell him tartly, "of course, I don't have to wander around the grounds all day fending off future spouses, which is certainly a blessing."

"Are you -? Did you just -? Are you making fun of me, Miss Fantine?"

"Of course not, _Prince_ Fiyero. I'm just making sure this week's many wonderful tournaments and grand balls aren't marred by thoughts of how very _difficult_ my life is. I may not be as well-off as you, but at least I'm not a prisoner. Now, if you don't mind, I really must find that black wildgrass."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Y'all know the drill; I do not own **_**Wicked**_**, or any characters and places in this story which are property of Gregory Maguire.**

**A/N: I know it's been ages since I updated this story, and sorry about that folks! Hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter Four

Going Up in the World

I cared for Miss Eldra as the Queen had bidden me to do, and for some days, it seemed as though she might recover. The amateurish concoctions of herbs I administered to her seemed to be doing some good, and she began insisting that soon she would be well enough to be on her feet, attending to the queen once more. I was relieved of my duties to her, and, instead of keeping vigil by her bedside as I had done for six nights now; I was informed that I was to spend the evening of the solstice helping with the annual ball. In the kitchens, Aprella and I scrubbed the best silverware until it shone and I spent a tiring afternoon carting little round tables into the Grand Hall. Everyone – the servants, the court, the royal family alike – was talking about the solstice ball. It seemed to be the event of the year, and quite frankly, I couldn't see what all the fuss was about.

That night, I was to wear a different uniform than usual; a midnight blue dress instead of the dull brown one I normally wore. Miss Ophelie fixed my hair for me (or tried to, anyway), dragging a comb through the knotted snarls and pulling it into a bun at the base of my neck.

"Ow!" I squeaked, flinching as she accidentally stabbed a hairpin into my head, "my hair's a lost cause, you might as well leave it."

Miss Ophelie pulled the pin loose and wiggled it gently into the uncomfortable (though admittedly somewhat neater than usual) twist of ashy-coloured hair. "There," she gave me a small smile, "I think you look very nice."

I resisted the urge to scowl at her. "I'm a servant," I reminded her, "I'm not supposed to look nice. I'm just supposed to look respectable."

She was still smiling, not at all fazed by my ungratefulness. "That too," she said softly, "now off you go. They'll be wanting you up in the hall. Don't forget, eyes down and speak only when you're spoken to."

"I know, I know," I nodded, barely suppressing the sigh of frustration that threatened to escape me. Spending so much time stuck in a dim, smelly room with Miss Eldra had made me antsy and irritable, and I had the feeling that being a virtually invisibly aide for a bunch of snobby people wasn't going to do much to improve my frame of mind.

The problem, as Father always used to say, was that I was 'stir-crazy'. I spent so much time telling myself that I was so fortunate to have secured this job, knowing all the while that I was suffocating here.

**-0o0o0o0o0o0o0-**

In the Grand Hall, one of the more superior servants directed me to a table laden with pewter jugs of some sort of rich, spicy smelling drink. I stood behind the table; hands neatly clasped in front of me, and allowed myself a few moments to sneak a look around. I had expected some sort of decorations, but other than the fact that the usual tables had been done away with and replaced by several of the little round ones I'd helped manoeuvre earlier, bordering the large, square room, nothing had changed. In one corner, a meagre orchestra of perhaps eight or nine solemn-faced men and women had begun to play a slow, low melody I did not recognise. Grand as the castle itself might have seemed, I could not help but think that in Gillikin, at the fancy dinners my parents used to attend when I was still very young, there had been a great deal more opulence and splendour. I was beginning to learn a thing or two about the Arjiki people of the Vinkus, and I'd come to realise that finery and ostentation were not among the things they valued most.

The doors were thrown open, and the hall began to fill, gradually, with people. Many of them I had seen before, in passing, for these were the King and Queen's court, and thus were frequent visitors to the castle. They came dressed in the same dark, oppressive colours as usual, and I thought that there was little to distinguish their evening dress from the clothes I usually saw them in. My own blue dress was hardly very bright at all, but I felt positively vibrant among these drab people.

All this speculating on decoration and attire reminded me of my mother, who had died of some sort of wasting disease when I was eight years old, and who had been obsessed with the appearance of things. I remembered how she had griped on and on about my hair and my posture, and my own lack of interest in my appearance, and suddenly I wished ardently that she was still here. However different the two of us were, she had been one of my only companions in an isolated, sheltered childhood.

"Miss!"

A precise, curt voice was commanding my attention, and I looked up hurriedly into the vaguely familiar face of one of the Lords. He had sharp-boned, chiselled features with stormy grey eyes and the same swarthy dark skin as the rest of his people. Standing with his back ramrod-straight and his mouth pressed shut in a thin, severe line, he carried that sort of weighty, deliberate authority that seems to alternate between being either intimidating or intensely irritating. Right now, I was thinking more along the lines of _intimidating._

I cleared my throat. "May I be of some assistance, my Lord?"

Ugh. Already, I _hated _calling him 'Lord'.

"I require mulled wine," he told me without preamble, looking pointedly at the pewter jugs below me on the table. Literally biting my tongue, I poured a glass of the heady substance and handed it to him. Wasn't the man capable of pouring his own drink?

"Next time I require you to be of service," he said shortly, "be sharp about it."

I nodded, doing my best to look meek and subservient, and Lord Whatever-his-name-was moved off into the growing throng of people, no doubt in search of someone equally snobbish to converse with.

Minutes later, the music petered out into silence and there came the startling, icy sound of ringing crystal. A manservant stepped up onto the dais where the High Table usually was, and called out:

"Presenting His Majesty King Marillot, and their Highnesses Queen Amaris and Prince Fiyero!"

Just like that, every person in that room stopped talking and turned to face the double doors. Queen Amaris moved slowly and gracefully into the hall, dressed in deep purple. Her face was as lovely, haughty and distant as ever. The king looked tired, I thought, his eyes heavy-lidded and his face tight and worn. As ever, Fiyero walked between and slightly behind them, his white shirt the only flash of light colour in a room full of people dressed like mourners. How very typical of him, drawing attention to himself. While his father droned his way through the customary speeches, he seemed to be one of the only people in the entire Grand Hall who were not listening raptly. I too found myself unable to listen, and as my attention wandered, I noticed a young girl, perhaps about my age, standing between the lord who had addressed me earlier and a tall, big-boned woman with a rather square jaw and perhaps the beadiest eyes I had ever seen. The girl (presumably the daughter of those two) was somewhat smaller in stature than her mother, though by no means short, and she was thin, but with a certain doughy look about her face that made me think she wasn't naturally slight. She was craning that coarse-haired head of hers and trying unashamedly to catch the prince's eye. I wondered if this was Sarima.

When the king had finished speaking, and he and his family began to mingle with the crowd, the maybe-Sarima girl strode purposefully toward Fiyero and took his hand in a firm, possessive gesture that made me recall my comment about him being a prisoner. For the first time, though, I found myself feeling a little sorry for him. I could hardly imagine how horrible it must be for someone to have practically their entire future mapped out for them. As the two began to dance, I lowered my gaze once more, feeling a little like an intruder. I raised my head only when a pinch-faced woman demanded that I pour her some mulled wine, and looked up just in time to see maybe-Sarima fleeing the Grand Hall at a walk so brisk it was almost a run, barely holding together her composure. Fleetingly, I wondered whether Fiyero would go after her, but no, now he was dancing with a pretty red-haired girl, and looking much more at ease with her than he had with Sarima (I was now almost positive it was her). I watched him dance with girl after girl as the night slipped by, wavering between sympathy for his plight and disgust at his behaviour, and glancing in his direction far more often than I liked to admit. For Oz's sake!

At some point during the night, a distraction arrived in the shape of a breathless, panicky little maid, who darted around the revellers and skidded to a halt right in front of my rapidly emptying wine table.

"Miss Fantine!" she gasped urgently, "you must come quickly! Miss Eldra is worse!"

I hesitated, unsure whether the queen would wish me to stay here and continue to pour wine for her court, or go downstairs to the servants' quarters and see to Miss Eldra. The maid (I could not for the life of me remember her name) seemed to know what I was thinking, for she said:

"Don't worry; I'll take your place here. Just go."

I did not need telling twice. I was off, meandering quickly through the dancing crowd, slipping out into the hallway and dashing down the stairs and along the narrow corridor. I barged open the door to Miss Eldra's room and hastened inside.

Miss Eldra's face glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and her eyes too were glassy. Once more, she was shivering, and her hands clutched the thin blanket so hard that the knuckles were white. How had she worsened so quickly and so dramatically?

"Miss Eldra," I sat down on the rickety chair beside her bed, "I'm here now. What do you need?"

"Water," she croaked out, predictably. There was a half-full jug on the floor by her bed, and I poured out a glass for her, noticing absentmindedly that I seemed to be doing an awful lot of pouring drinks for people tonight. As I had done before, I propped her up and held the glass to her lips while she gulped greedily at the water as though it was some kind of life-giving elixir.

"Better?" I asked her as I lowered her back down onto her pillow, and she nodded weakly.

"Fantine," she turned her face toward me, for the first time using my name without the honorific, without any sort of title, "I would like to thank you for caring for me."

I stared at her, aghast. Miss Eldra? Saying _thank you? _To _me?_

"Um, you're welcome," I blurted, and she barked out a brief, hoarse laugh.

"But don't think that just because I'm grateful to you," she continued, "you'll get treated at all differently to any other maid once I'm back on my feet. I still expect the same of you as I do of anyone else."

It was my turn to laugh. I couldn't help myself. "Of course," I agreed, quite unable to believe that Miss Eldra and I had shared a moment of laughter. It was certainly one of the more surreal circumstances in my life.

I sat beside her all night, staying awake for as long as I could. But as the night wore on I began to grow tired. My head sagged sideways onto my shoulder, and I drifted off into sleep.

When I awoke, I felt groggy and disorientated. The rooms in the servants' quarters are below ground, and have no windows, so I had no way of knowing what time it was. Miss Eldra was still asleep, but her breathing was shallow and uneven. She needed someone wiser and more experienced than I to care for her, I realised. I would go back upstairs, and if it was daylight, I would seek out the queen and tell her that Miss Eldra needed to see some sort of doctor – perhaps even a sorcerer (maybe magic could heal her, I thought).

Morning had broken, and through the high windows I could see that the sky was a pale, clear blue. Glad of my light, fleet pace, I raced up three flights of stairs, hurtling down corridors and flying around corners until I lurched to a halt outside Queen Amaris' bedchamber.

Outside, Miss Ophelie was waiting dutifully. "Miss Fantine," her eyebrows lifted in surprise, "what's amiss?"

"I need to speak to the queen," I told her between huge gulps of air, "Miss Eldra is very ill again."

"Queen Amaris is asleep," Miss Ophelie's voice was gentle as ever, but firm too, "you will have to speak to her later. For now, you will just have to go and watch over Miss Eldra."

"But –" I started, then stopped abruptly. It was no use. "All right," I turned and made my way back down to the servants' quarters. I would have to express my concerns to the queen later, when she awoke, I resolved.

But when I entered Miss Eldra's room, it became apparent that there would never be a time for that.

The queen's lady-in-waiting was dead.

**-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-**

I could not cry for Miss Eldra, though a part of me felt as though I should. I had not known her long, and in the time that I had known her, she had only once, in her final hours, showed any kindness toward me. Once I had informed Queen Amaris of what had happened, I returned to my duties as a maidservant without any fuss or complaint, and as I cleaned the first-floor guest bedrooms, my thoughts were with my parents (most particularly, my father) rather than with her.

Just before noon, Miss Ophelie came to find me.

"Queen Amaris wishes to speak to you," she informed me, her tone betraying nothing. Her expression was impassive, but her hazel eyes held an unutterable sadness. I mounted the stairs with a roiling, molten feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Would the queen blame me for Miss Eldra's death? Was that why she wanted to speak to me? Was I about to be dismissed – or worse?

"Enter!" that crisp voice called out when I knocked on the gleaming wooden door. I twisted the handle and stepped tentatively inside.

Queen Amaris was seated at a wide desk made from some kind of dark wood, over by the window. Her eyes were fixed unerringly upon me as I curtsied clumsily and came to stand before her.

"Miss Fantine," she began, in a voice that gave me no way of knowing how she would proceed, "I have given much thought to your conduct with regards to Miss Eldra." There was a pause, a pause that seemed to go on for several long minutes. Finally, she went on; "You are to be commended for your care and diligence, both of which are qualities that I feel make an excellent lady-in-waiting. Do you see where I am going with this?"

"No, Your Highness. I'm afraid I don't."

The queen sighed impatiently. "I am offering you Miss Eldra's job, Miss Fantine. Should you want it, it is yours."

**A/N: Wow, that has to have been the longest chapter by far that I've written for this story! And now she's got herself a higher position, Fantine's going to be privy to all kinds of secrets... We shall just have to wait and see... :D**


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